Outsourcing
by Kaslin9135
Summary: Something, or someone is ghosting Metahumans. The Big Capes are hard up for options. They dont like it, but it's time to start thinking like the other side. Bait with an Ace up their sleeves.


There were many places they could meet. The Watchtower was obvious. There were also Fortresses and Caves, even Islands, though they sometimes presented... diplomatic difficulties. Not all things, however, can happen in Named Places.

This place was different. It had no name. It was a dark room, in a long forgotten basement, beneath a dilapidated building with no owner and no tenants. The building crouched, abandoned and unassuming, in a block full of similar buildings. The Wayne Corp Reclamation Project sign outside had been stolen years ago, and was now part of a lovely cardboard condominium in a nearby alley.

There were people in the building, of course. They were street people, forgotten just like the block they lived on, scratching out a meager existence. Everyone in the room had slipped by them, one way or another; too fast to see, too silent to hear, too unremarkable to remember. The darkness helped, but then again, the darkness always helped the man who'd requested the meeting.

Something crackled in his hands as he stepped forward, and light poured from between his fingers. One by one, he tossed the glowsticks around the room. A strong hand shot out and caught one in midair.

"I'm pretty sure none of us need these, you know."

The man in the black cape smiled. He didn't do it often, and it always looked a bit grim.

"Seemed courteous. Besides, the night vision gives me a headache, evnetually." A subvocalized command shut off the mentioned technology, and the eyepieces of his mask faded from a vibrant green to somehow more-disturbing white. The other man nodded.

"Good points. Thank you. So, why are we here, Bruce?" He twirled the glowstick through his fingers. The orange light spilling from the plastic tube made his red boots and cape look black. He clearly wasn't comfortable. "The last time you asked for a meeting here, things got... bad."

"I know, Clark. And they might get that way again." He cut his gaze to a corner and tossed a glowstick that way. "We all know better, J'onn."

The homeless man sitting in the corner looked like a derelict from a bygone age. His Victorian suit was torn, stained with unknowable filth. He hadn't stirred until the glowstick bounced off his forehead. He shook himself, the mass of matted hair and beard shedding brown strands, and stood. As he did, the suit, hair, skin, clothes, everything seemed to flow away from his center, into his back and disappearing. They left a tall humanoid. Green skin, red eyes, black and red suit. He spoke, his voice deep and measured.

"Nevertheless, it's always good to practice."

"Agreed. A skill can never be too sharp."

The new voice was a woman, one of two people in the room qualified to wear a crown. Her business suit hid her figure somewhat, but her coat was thrown back to show the hilt of a sword at one hip, and a coil of softly glowing rope at the other. She nodded to the two men.

"I brought her, Bruce. She's waiting outside."

A fourth man's lip curled in distaste as he stood straight, pushing himself off a wall. The orange light washed out the similar colour of his armoured torso, and made his green pants a sickly shade of brown. He left his trident leaning against the wall.

"The other one is here too. I can hear him hitting on Canary. He's going to get his ass kicked. And Oliver will be right behind her for the finisher." Superman cocked his head to the side, listening. His eyes narrowed as he turned to Batman.

"Really? Him? I don't want him anywhere near anything we're anywhere near." Bruce held up a conciliatory hand.

"I know. Believe me, none of us like him. But when you want to run a con... you find a con man."

Wonder Woman smirked.

"What, couldn't get in touch with Matches Malone this morning?" Superman politely hid his smile behind his hand, and Batman rolled his eyes.

"He was otherwise engaged. Anyway. Business at hand."

Martian Manhunter nodded, knowing already.

"The disappearances. Young women, usually metahuman. Associates of the League, or at least known to the public."

"Correct," said Batman. "Zero evidence available in each case. I'd say it's LIKE they dropped off the face of the earth, but frankly that could be exactly what happened."

"Twelve so far," said Superman, "and clearly some sort of enemy action."

"Fourteen." Aquaman's voice was just above a whisper. "Two Atlanteans went missing last week. Both teenaged girls. Compared to humans, any Atlantean is superpowered. No offense, Bruce."

"None taken. I knew about your missing girls, Arthur. I'm sorry. I assumed you would handle it, but you think there's a connection?"

"Couple that with the missing girl from Themyscara, and we have fifteen total. I think it'd be reasonable to assume a connection."

"That, I didn't know about." Batman frowned. "You just found out?"

"An hour ago." Wonderwoman shrugged. "Just hadn't had a chance to tell you yet."

"So who's behind it?" The anger in Superman's voice was palpable, and the glowstick in his fingers slowly crackled as he closed his fist.

"I don't know, but I have an idea of how we can find out." Batman drew a deep breath. "I just have to get permission." Another silent command activated a speaker outside the room, piping his voice into the moldy, damp hallway.

"Canary. Come in, please."

Black Canary put her hand on the door, then turned back to the man sitting across the hall. He'd fallen partially into the long-rotted drywall, and was gently poking a growing bruise on his jaw. Canary pursed her lips and spoke.

"Lesson learned, jerk?"

The man nodded ruefully as she opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. He spat blood on the floor and muttered.

"Still. She's got a nice ass."

Black Canary blinked in the orange light, taking in the room.

"Oh. All of you. Uh. Am I in trouble?"

"No," snapped Batman, all friendliness folded back up and stuffed into a corner of his psyche. "We have a problem. I have a plan. I want your input."

A short rundown from the Bat is usually clear, concise, and deeply terrifying, but Dinah Lance was used to him by now.

"Okay, kidnappings are bad," she said. "Why do you want my input?"

"Because two of the people I'd like to use are your... proteges." Superman turned to Batman, glaring.

"I'm sorry? 'Use?' We don't use people. I've been VERY clear about that." Batman nodded.

"You're right. The League doesn't use people. But the Erebus division..."

"Wait," Canary cut in. "'Erebus Division?' What is THAT?"

"A bit of League history that I THOUGHT we were done with," growled Aquaman, "and furthermore, a bit that YOU have never heard of. Got it?"

"...I'll forget it. Until I feel I have to remember it. And that's the best you'll get out of me."

"Despite your feelings, Erebus has a clear purpose." Martian Manhunter put a hand on Aquaman's shoulder as he spoke. "If Batman finds it necessary to reactivate the division... Well. He is our resident expert in, shall we say, underhanded nastiness."

"Thank you, Manhunter. My proposal is that we induct and activate several superhuman women, as a specific team. They'll be public, but the funding can come from Erebus. We haven't touched that money in years, and it's been accruing interest. Some of it's been reinvested, as well. We set them up as a debut special team, give them their own HQ, make a big deal about them, and send them out."

Diana blinked.

"Oh, Hera. You want to use them as BAIT?"

Batman nodded, not skipping a beat.

"Exactly. We'll keep a close eye on them, and when our kidnappers take the bait, we'll have them. The only issue is that I don't want to toss untrained idiots out to be shiny beacons for whoever we're dealing with. Most of my candidates are independent. Some of them, I can judge competent without help. But two of them..." He turned to Canary, holding out a small object in his palm. It lit up, and the beam of light coalesced into a pair of faces. "You trained them. Can they handle it?"

She stared at the images for a moment, then looked up and met Batman's constant glare.

"I think you're crazy. I think you're taking an unnecessary risk. I think we can do this a dozen other ways, all of which are safer, easier, and all around probably better." She took a deep breath. "But... you are, to some degree, the boss. Bosses. So. Under the utmost protest, and consider this my rejection of the plan... yes. They can handle it."

Batman nodded sharply and stowed the projector.

"Thanks. Protest noted. You can go. I'll keep you in the loop."

Canary turned and left the room, swearing under her breath about crazy manchildren in costumes. Once the door was closed, Batman turned to the Martian.

"I won't ask you to, but if it comes down to it, could you...?"

Wonderwoman's growl seemed to echo in the tiny, dank room.

"Alter her memory? Of course he can. But he won't. That wouldn't be keeping her in the loop, would it, Bruce?"

"It's just a contingency, not a--"

"It's not." Superman hadn't moved an inch, but he seemed suddenly to loom much larger. "You will keep any word you gave, Bruce. Particularly in front of all of us."

Batman rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Fine. And now for my ace in the hole. Deep hole. Very dark."

"Oh, no, please." Aquaman strode toward the door. "Allow me." He flung the door open, reached out, and grabbed the man who'd been listening at the keyhole, dragging him into the room by his shirtfront. He held the man up, well off the ground. "I can smell the fish and chips on your breath." He let go and the man crumpled unceremoniously to the stained and worn concrete.

"Right, and you Atlanteans only eat kelp, I'm sure." He stood and brushed himself off. "Biceps bigger than your head don't come with a low-protein diet, mate." He looked around the room. "All of you? Fuck me. Must be big. Someone steal Fate's helmet? Your wee half-demon girl gone mad again?"

"Shut up," said Wonderwoman, "if you actually can, and listen."

The summary was a bit longer this time. More detailed. As it wound down, the man yawned, clearly bored and deliberately unimpressed.

"So what does any of this have to do with me, then?"

"I want you to be my on-the-ground watch. We know what you're capable of. You can know exactly what's really going on, what OUR plans are, and keep the secret. You help the team, subtly, if you can. You're already involved with my strongest candidate anyway." He ignored the sharp glances from Superman and Wonderwoman. "Keep out of the spotlight, and if something happens that we're not prepared for, you contact us and then start solving the problem." Explanation delivered, Batman crossed his arms, awaiting the inevitable.

"And why, exactly, would I EVER want to be involved in this mess? World's Greatest Detective can't solve some kidnappings, so he asks ME for help? Not a chance." Batman nodded, resigned, and start to speak, but was promptly interrupted by the World Greatest Boyscout.

"There. He's not interested. Let's talk to someone else. Zatanna. Raven. We could put them ON the team!"

"You don't like me, do you, Clark?"

The simple statement hit the group like a brick to the frontal lobe. The man rolled his eyes, and pointed at each member in turn.

"Clark Kent. Bruce Wayne. Diana Prince. John Jones, for all the good THAT does with a shapeshifter. And of course, Arthur Curry. You'll pardon me for not kneeling, highnesses."

Batman waved the names aside.

"I assumed a long time ago that you'd figured out who we are. Doesn't matter."

"You're right. It doesn't. The point is, I've spent a lot of time learning about you, so I can AVOID you. All the capes and flying and such. I'm not interested."

"We're not asking for help. We're offering a deal."

"...mildly interested. Better be one hell of a deal."

"As pathetic as this feels, the League is very well-funded. Enough money to buy and sell most mid-sized nations, and once you get past the 'space station' point, it's only really good for... hiring contractors."

"Right," the man drawled. "Have you got any idea what my per diem is? Or how much I'll increase it for madness like this? Or how..."

He trailed off as Batman pulled a small card from, apparently, nowhere, and handed it to him. The man looked at the card for minute, pursed his lips, and then slipped it into a pocket of his coat. He smiled broadly, and looked around at the assembled heroes.

"Congratulations, children. You just hired John Constantine."


End file.
